


come on watch my heart turn to pulp

by orphan_account



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Bullying, Crosley Hotshot, F/M, Infatuation, Newspaper Delivery Boy, Shirley Temples, au where reids a newspaper delivery boy and elle is the girl in the diner that he passes by everyday, lucky strikes, title is from paper love by allie x
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 06:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13781340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Every day when Spencer Reid rode past Paula’s diner, he saw her. She was the girl whose skirt was one inch too short, whose lipstick was one shade too dark. She was the girl who pushed the boundary only ever so slightly, so slightly that it was all that mattered and simultaneously didn’t matter at all. She sat at the second to last barstool, drinking a Shirley temple with her ankles crossed. She had reflective, auburn hair which hung itself around her head like a set of curtains.She was perfect.





	come on watch my heart turn to pulp

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this super late and didnt edit it just came into my head but whomst cares

Spencer rode everyday because he was a paperboy. He was seventeen--which, realistically, was too old to be a paperboy. But no one else wanted to hire Spencer. So, he remained a paperboy.

Every day when Spencer Reid rode past Paula’s diner, he saw her. She was the girl whose skirt was one inch too short, whose lipstick was one shade too dark. She was the girl who pushed the boundary only ever so slightly, so slightly that it was all that mattered and simultaneously didn’t matter at all. She sat at the second to last barstool, drinking a Shirley temple with her ankles crossed. She had reflective, auburn hair which hung itself around her head like a set of curtains.

He wondered about that girl. What was her favorite fruit? What was her favorite movie? Why Shirley temples? Why the second to last seat? But, there were some things he didn’t wonder about her. He didn’t think about her job, for one. Why she was at the diner every single day at the same time?

Once, when he rode by, he saw her with a man. The exchange was fast—the man attempted to wrap his arm around her shoulder and she pushed him. So hard, he fell off the stool. Spencer smiled to himself. He didn’t look back, he kept riding.

Once, on a hot summer night, he laid awake with the covers off and the window open. He could hear the cicadas chirping. He thought of her when he looked into the stars and saw the sparkle of her glass, raised lazily in the air. He didn’t sleep until sunrise, when the deep blue sky transformed into a red pink.

And then, one day, on his way to the diner he was stopped by some bullies from his school. They slammed his bike onto the ground, with him in it. The bullies stripped him and lit the newspapers on fire and chased him. One of them burnt his shoulder blade, leaving a nasty scar. He ran into the river to save himself. They laughed and threw rocks, before giving up and leaving. Spencer sat in the cold of the river after they left, hugging himself. Eventually he forced himself out of the river, feet numb.

He walked up to his bike, which now had a punctured tire, and tried to think. There was no point in delivering the newspapers which were now burnt and missing, and he would have to drag his bike back to his home. It was at this point he looked up to the window and saw the girl there. She was staring right at him. His cheeks flared red. He had dreamt about her a hundred times, seen her even more. And now the first time she sees him, it’s like this. Half-naked, burnt, wet, exhausted, crying.

Even through his layer of shame he couldn’t bring himself to break eye contact with her. Instead she broke eye contact. He sighed. It wasn’t enough for God to break his bike, but now his heart too? He turned his bike back in the direction of his house, when he heard someone yell, “Wait!” His head snapped back in the direction. It was the girl.

She hurried down the steps to the diner, her high heels clacking on the stone. She ran over to him. _To him._ His heart was stuck in his throat. The girl stopped so close to Spencer that he could smell her. She smelled like grenadine and fresh laundry. He suddenly became conscious of what he himself smelled like.

She was even more beautiful up close. She had faint freckles on her tan face which complimented her large, doe eyes. When he looked at them he thought of peach pits.

“Do you need a ride home, Paperboy?” the girl offered.

Oh, her voice. Her voice was like French bread; expensive but worth every penny.

“If you don’t mind, Miss.” He didn’t know how he managed to have the confidence to say it, but he did.

She smiled that wonderful smile he had only seen a ghost of before—a glimpse.

“Come with me.” She walked him to her Crosley Hotshot, red, open, serene. Spencer pulled his bike with him and into his lap. The girl fumbled with her keys. When the engine started, she lit a Lucky Strike and pulled out of the driveway. The smell of cigarettes was the only thing familiar to Spencer. Every night he would come home to his living room, fuzzy from the smoke, his mother sitting by the television. Though, she fancied Pall Malls.

“Where’s your house?” The girl asked, smoke flowing from her cigarette like the river current.

“Davison street, Miss.” Spencer responded.

The girl smiled again. “You don’t need to be fancy with me. What’s your name?”

“Spencer.” He replied.

“Girly name.” She commented light-heartedly. “I’m Elle.”

It was Spencer’s turn to smile. “Well, that name is girlier.” Inside his head, he thought to himself: _Elle. That describes her perfectly._

Elle threw her head back in laughter, ignoring the road for one hot second. “You have a spunk to you.”

 Her eyes traveled down to Spencer’s wounds, his naked chest. The look was clearly one of concern, not lust or judgement.

“Bad day?” Elle asked, taking a drag. Spencer just nodded. She exhaled the smoke into his face, and when he looked into her eyes he saw the reflection of a glass, raised lazily in the air. Her attention snapped back to the road. They were at his street.

“Do you need me to pull up to your house, Paperboy?” The nickname made Spencer smile.

“No, I can take it from here.” He pulled his bike (which had been giving him a leg cramp the whole time, though he chose to ignore that) out of the car and steadied it.

“Okay.” Elle responded. As he started to walk away and she began to put her car into reverse, she called to him. “Aren’t you too old to be a paperboy?”

“No, but I am too old to be getting chased into rivers and getting my shirt stolen.”

One last laugh, and then she drove away. He knew he’d see her again, though, and maybe this time he wouldn’t wait another year to do so. Though he would need to fix his tire.

So far, this was only infatuation. But perhaps it could one day become love.


End file.
